'My Lady- How Comes It About-...'(Michaelangelo Buonarotti) Poem by Miroslava Odalovic

That - sculpted in an urn - and ashen survived
he still can breathe the mind made of stone
on white washed shores multiplying waves
drink the foams of dawn drink the wines of nights

that - cut out of the wounds - and in blood revived
he still can voice the mountain echo sound
on slanting hills of long forgotten rhymes
live in sacred memories the first spark ignites

that - half insane with joy - and all beauty bound
he still can carve the vision void of pain
live through centuries and so many times
hold the torch and light and no sign of decay

dedicated to Michaelangelo Buonarotti